


Answered Questions

by Skalidra



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, SladeRobin Week 2020, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:13:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27195625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skalidra/pseuds/Skalidra
Summary: Slade's known he had a soulmate for most of a decade. A dead soulmate. As far as he knows, he's the only person in the world to have a mark that etched itself into his skin already blackened, without him ever even meeting the person it was supposed to belong to. Which is fine. He doesn't need one, and he never did. He's absolutely fine on his own.
Relationships: Jason Todd/Slade Wilson
Comments: 26
Kudos: 400
Collections: SladeRobin Week 2020





	Answered Questions

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! It's SladeRobin Week, and I have many fics for you all, starting with day one! The prompt is 'Reluctant Soulmates'. Enjoy!

“That a tattoo?”

Slade doesn’t look up from the rifle he’s reassembling. He doesn’t need to look at the kid to know where he’s looking; his healing doesn’t allow for tattoos, and there’s only one mark on his body that could be mistaken as one. Right bicep, currently bared by the tanktop he’s wearing since the Ikon suit’s in the washer.

Kid’s smarter than that, though. Marks are sharper than tattoos; no fading, no distortion, no unevenness in lines from the error of a human hand. You’d only mistake one for the other from a distance, or if you needed glasses.

“Ask a lot of stupid questions?”

He clicks the last piece of the rifle back into place, lifts it to look down the sights and make sure they’re aligned. No reason it shouldn’t be, but he’ll need it soon enough. Better to confirm now.

The kid, off behind his right shoulder and most of the way across the room, huffs a small breath. Sounds annoyed, not that Slade cares. The kid’s the one that contracted his help with this; he can put up with him or find another mercenary to play lead on his little do-good mission. Grayson would never sink to ‘his level’ of problem solving, but his little brother has no such issue.

“Who was it?” Todd asks, evidently having been considering this question for a while. Probably since he stripped out of his suit and the kid got a look at it.

If he’d known the kid was going to get nosy, he’d have grabbed a jacket or something to cover it. He doesn’t think much about it anymore, but other people love to shove their noses where they don’t belong, especially when it comes to love, sex, and soulmates. Even more so when it’s ‘a tragedy,' or ‘a shame,' or any other stupid words they want to use to express their discomfort with the games fate likes to play. Performative nonsense, all of it.

Slade moves on to the next weapon in his armaments. “Don’t know. Never met them.”

He can’t actually see the kid from the angles they’re at, but he can hear the shuffle of feet on the carpet of the shitty motel room. “So it just…”

‘Appeared,’ is the word the kid is looking for, but Slade has no intention of filling it in for him. It’s been most of a decade since the floral design inked itself onto the outside of his arm, one random Wednesday in the middle of an argument with Adeline. A sharp burn, design spreading out in inky black from a point of contact that his soulmate would never actually touch.

Shock came first, with the struggle to understand how he could have a soulmate and yet never meet them. Black marks were for deaths; if he was never to meet his soulmate, why would he even have one?

_“At least they were smart enough to die before they ever met you,”_ Adeline had hissed at him afterward, with the perfect aim of a trained sniper. _“You would have ruined their life just like everyone else you touch.”_

It’s still the closest Slade’s ever come to hitting her.

"I didn't know marks could do that."

Slade grunts. "They don't."

Not as far as he's aware, anyway. He's the only person he knows of that's had a mark appear without provocation like that, and he spent some time searching after it happened. Marks appear at a touch, and blacken on death. Full stop. Everything and everyone agrees, except the damn thing on his arm.

"You didn't look for who it might have been?"

Slade turns his head. Looks at the kid with an arched eyebrow. Todd doesn't quite squirm, but his jaw shifts like he wants to. "Why would it matter? They're dead."

"Yeah, but you could…” The kid crosses his arms, weakly finishes, "Know."

He snorts, eyeing the kid for another second before he turns back to his work. "Sure, if I was into necrophilia I'm sure I'd have some use for the corpse of a soulmate."

Todd chokes, breaking into a sharp coughing fit at the opposite end of the room.

He lets the kid get back to breathing normally, before he asks, "Met yours yet?"

The couple seconds of hesitation are answer enough. "Why do you care?"

"I don't." Slade picks up one of the handguns, ejecting the clip in one easy press and checking to make sure the chamber's clear. "But if you're going to ask me invasive questions that aren't your business, I get to do the same."

Another pause. Coin toss if the kid will just shut up and drop the whole thing. Or—

“No, I haven’t.”

Or answer, and think that leaves the floor open to whatever other inane questions he wants to ask. Well, there are ways to dissuade that. Kid still owes him an answer, if they're going to be trading invasive truths, and most people don't win games of truth-and-deeper-truth with him. People get _uncomfortable_.

Slade sets the gun down and spins the chair around, giving this his full attention for the moment. One quick look at the kid — arms crossed, already wary looking and practically bleeding insecurity from the pores — confirms his choice.

"No soulmate. Virgin, then?"

Todd's cheeks flush red almost instantly. But he grits his teeth, tightens his grip on his own arms, and answers, "No."

Hm. He would have bet otherwise.

Slade takes a second look. It's not the first time that he's noted that the kid is handsome. He's not Grayson, but not everyone wants the traditional pretty boy. Todd's taller and bigger, rougher angles and denser weight to him, but no one would come close to describing him as ugly. Objectively, Slade wouldn't mind tossing the kid around some if he were up for that. He's not surprised others were interested, as much as that the ball of wariness that is Todd agreed to it happening; it doesn't take any real investigative skill to pin Robin-number-two as having an inferiority complex. All the later ones do; hard to measure up to Grayson's skills. Or looks. Or sexual partners.

“Who was it?”

The kid gets even redder. "That's not—”

"What?" Slade cuts in, arching an eyebrow. "Not my business?"

Todd's jaw clenches. He's got more spine — or stupid, reckless bravery — then Slade would have strictly expected, though, because his answer of, "Talia al Ghul," might be through gritted teeth, but it doesn't waver.

It's also not what he was expecting. Some miscellaneous civilian, maybe, or one of those teammates the kid's been running around with (Harper, Princess Koriand'r, an Amazon… Nothing to be ashamed of there, and variety enough with gender for any preference), but the al Ghul queen herself? Heir to the demon? Now that's got a story behind it, he'd bet. Talia isn't the type to sleep with just anyone, and he wouldn't have put Todd on the list of potential targets any more than he'd put Grayson. She's too invested in the Bat. Tends to ruin relationships when you sleep with your interest's kids.

"Not bad, kid." He grins, leans forward with his elbows braced against his knees. "I didn't think your one name was going to be one we'd share."

The kid's expression goes through a whole rollercoaster of emotion. Embarrassment, first and foremost, and an entertaining little burst of horror, too. His face is bright red. Slade's not the type to find things cute, but it is amusing. "You—?"

"Fucked the Demon's Daughter?" he finishes. "Depends how you define it. We had sex, sure."

No such ambiguity with her and the kid, he'd bet. Talia al Ghul doesn't suffer fools or give easily, and Todd might be dangerous, but he's clearly not dominant the way that Slade is, or the Bat. It's only with men like them that she even hints that she would ever be anything but in control.. Slade remembers that night fondly enough. Not what he usually goes for, but fun.

"You’re into—?" Todd's voice cracks, right in the middle of his question. Slade can guess what he was going to ask — poor inexperienced, vanilla kid — but what he actually ends it with is a weak, “Women?” Wonder he has any blood left for his heart to keep beating, with the color his face is.

The chance to tease is too tempting for Slade to resist.

“No, I had three kids but can’t stand women,” he drawls, arching an eyebrow.

Immediately, the kid scowls. “Fuck off.”

Slade gets to his feet, stretching his arms over his head as he takes an idle step forward. Two. Close enough for the kid to tense up a little, like he thinks Slade's going to lunge and try and grab him. He offers a smirk, tucks his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans. "I'm into anything I like the look of." He takes a meaningful glance downwards, to where the kid's uniform pants draw tight at his thighs. "I don't give a shit what's in your pants."

If he hadn't been watching for it, he probably would have missed the tiny, sharp intake of breath. There's certainly no clue on the kid's face, except the little flick of his eyes (maybe he'd have blushed, if he wasn't already), but Slade trusts the rest of the signs. A small breath, a quick look, the bob of Todd's throat as he swallows. If he were a little closer, he'd bet he could hear the uptick in the kid’s heartbeat, too.

Could be fun. Slade's not opposed to lack of experience; the kid's good looking.

Todd clears his throat, looks away for a half second. "Did that show up before you were married, or after?"

It's a blatant attempt to drag the conversation back to safer ground. Well, he can let the kid stall for a minute or two; it's not going to make any difference, now that he knows.

"After divorce, actually." Nearly eight years past, at this point.

"So, you weren't going to wait for your soulmate?"

Slade snorts. Even when he was a kid, he'd never believed in that. "Fate's never a guarantee. You could go ninety years and only know your soulmate the last two, and I didn't have any intention of waiting till destiny decided to throw me a bone. It's a waste of time for something that might not even be any good. Soulmates are only perfect in movies."

The kid's hands clench on his arms. "Yeah. Agreed." Judging by the body language, he actually means it, too.

Slade waits a moment for the kid to add on something self-pitying or needlessly explanatory, but he doesn't. Good. Then they're done with the stalling.

He steps closer. The room wasn't big to begin with, and one purposeful stride closes most of the distance still left. "By my count," he points out, as Todd tenses up a little, "you owe me three answers."

Four, if he counts the kid's half-voiced question, but he'll be nice.

Todd swallows. "Yeah?"

He won't count that either.

He hums a confirmation, and then goes straight for the throat. "Is Talia al Ghul the only sex you've had?"

There's hesitation, but Todd doesn't seem to really seriously consider brushing him off. Smart kid. "Yes."

Slade takes another look down… and back up. "You interested in expanding your experiences?"

A thick swallow. Sharper, richer hesitation. This close he can, indeed, hear the way the kid’s heartbeat jumps for a few moments. Almost surprisingly, after Todd takes a steadying breath, the answer is clear enough. "Yes."

Slade lets his lips curl up a little. He takes a pointed glance over at the clock hung up on the wall. "We've got a good few hours before our window. I'm up for an 'experience' or two, if you are. No strings."

The kid glances at the clock as well. "Why?"

There's that inferiority complex, just like he pinned. Todd has trouble even conceiving of why someone would be interested in him, or at least has trouble imagining that Slade doesn't have some ulterior motive, or hidden plan. Not an unreasonable assumption, just happens to be wrong this time.

"I like sex," he says, blunt enough to make the kid choke, just a little. "You're attractive. I've got time. Don't need any other reasons."

He's pretty sure Todd's going to agree. The kid wants it, he can see it, and Slade's offered plenty of reasons to say yes. He's good looking himself, and he's well aware of the effect he tends to have on people, especially boys of a certain kind. (Raised under a firm hand, denied a steady father, craving attention and desire. The Bat tailored them nicely.)

Todd meets his eye, flush lingering and just a bit of a challenge in his gaze. "What about your last question?"

"I think I'll save it." Slade takes the last step, putting him right up in front of the kid, boxing him in against the wall he's only a couple feet out from. "I'm sure I can find something… interesting, to ask."

The kid's breathing has picked up. His arms come free from the cross, falling to his sides. The white, short-sleeved shirt he has on — apparently what he usually has on, beneath the high-collared armor and jacket — pulls against his shoulders, stretches over the chest. He can see a hint of nipple, too, now that the kid's a bit aroused. He thinks he'd like to bite one.

"Alright," Todd says, after one more swallow. Vague, but Slade can assume the connection well enough.

He grins, and moves in. His hands wrap around the kid's biceps, pulling him in as he leans down and takes his mouth, too. The kid gasps. Hands grab his shirt at the sides, twisting the fabric. Kid tastes like cigarette smoke, more than anything, but Slade doesn't give a shit. He bites the kid's lip, tightens his grip. A hand lets go of Slade's shirt and grabs his arm instead, nails digging into his skin, pulling at him like the kid's trying to force him closer.

There's a sudden _heat_ , spreading over his arm. Slade breaks the kiss, sees a flash of the kid's wide eyes before he jerks his gaze over to where Todd's fingers are wrapped around his bicep. Over his mark, which is blooming in vibrant reds and oranges, the black reduced to only spots in the design. He knew it was two woven tiger lilies, in theory. For once, his imagination doesn't match the reality.

"That—”

Slade looks back, taking in the kid's surprised expression in a glance, before he looks at his own grip. There's color there, too. He has to let go to see it, but it's obvious even before he does. The same reds and oranges. One flower on each arm, just under the edge of the shirt's sleeves on either side. Not mirrored, exactly. No, it's the two on his own arm, but split apart instead of intertwined. (One of those damn fortune-telling mark-readers would be giddy with the symbolism, he's sure.)

That’s not possible.

"What happened eight years ago?" he asks, pulling his gaze from the marks back to the kid's face.

Todd blinks. Laughs, suddenly. Just a short burst. "I died. Didn't wake back up for six months."

Huh.

Adeline's going to have a field day with this.

He takes the kid by the arms again, refusing to pay any special attention to the fresh marks. "It doesn't change anything."

Todd swallows and wets his lips. The hand still lingering on his bicep squeezes. "Nothing at all."

Good. Smart kid.

**Author's Note:**

> [You can find my Tumblr here!](http://skalidra.tumblr.com/)


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